


tell me that it's love (and i thought you said you still loved me)

by harlequindream



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6405490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequindream/pseuds/harlequindream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A little something I did for a friend, kind of set during when CT and DT recorded the Big Finish audio things.</p>
    </blockquote>





	tell me that it's love (and i thought you said you still loved me)

**Author's Note:**

> A little something I did for a friend, kind of set during when CT and DT recorded the Big Finish audio things.

It had taken them so long to get to this point. To get them both in the same room with each other. He’s always so busy, and so is she. They barely have enough time for themselves, let alone their families, or even for each other anymore. Yet here they are, not only in the same room but finally, _finally,_ working together again. And on something Doctor Who related, fancy that.

She still hasn’t retained any knowledge about his childhood favourite, not that he had expected her too. And he’s still sighing at every opportunity as she makes a mistake, which she did expect, _of course._

It feels normal; _just like always._

It’s their first day in the studio. Catherine is using her ‘Donna’ voice, almost as perfect as it was back then, and David is using his ‘Doctor’ voice. They are both so full of excitement and wonder, and they could _swear_ that they feel just a few years younger, like they were back then. Back when they were doing this for eight months. It’s overwhelming, how strange it feels to be these two characters again, after such a long time. Because they’re _both_ here, sitting next to each other, doing this.

Not that they’d want to be anywhere else at the moment. 

It brings up a lot of old memories, and they get nostalgic. David tells her so when they stop for a lunch break. He spouts out memories about being on set like he’s a never-ending fountain, just pumping out the same thing over and over. Catherine laughs and sighs, stops him when she doesn’t remember being so out there and fun.

“But you were, you know,” he says after she’s stopped him for a fourth time.

“How could I have been? I’m never like that!” she laughs, a hint of nervous tension lacing her voice, almost like she wishes he’d just stop saying how great she is. He’s never been good at that, though.

“You are! Well,” he stretches his neck to one side, then grins at her. “You’re like that with me. I’ve never known a different you.”

“You’ve got me all wrong,” she sighs, happy but tired. She looks down at the lukewarm cup of coffee in her hands. “Whatever you’re saying now, I’m not like that anymore.”

“Yes, you are,” he tells her incredulously. “Every time I’m with you, you are bright and bubbly, Catherine.”

“Okay, you’ve lost it then. We’ll need to check you into a mental institution if you keep banging on about this,” she laughs softly, deflecting. She hates his sentimentality. Someway, somehow, he always tries to tell her how great she is and she refuses to hear any of it. It doesn’t need to be said. At least not from him anymore. He’s only told her about a thousand times. 

Yet, David inches closer to her on this couch they’re on, in an empty room, with hardly any furniture or decoration. It’s a spare room they’ve been put in, to drink their abysmal coffee. He puts his empty mug on the ground, just beside his feet, then he wraps a hand around one of hers, still gripping her practically cold mug like it’s her life rope. And when David grabs hold her hand, it feels like he’s pulling her into shore.

He can see it, written all over her face. He went a little too far in telling her she’s so great. She knows it was because he mentioned it was only around him she is like this, and she suspects he realizes that too. This is what happens to her, when he is around. He brings _something_ out in her. Melancholy, she thinks. 

“Sorry,” he grumbles, tries to smile at her. She pulls away her hand that is free and places it atop his, trapping his warm hand between hers.

“It’s fine. I’m being silly,” she says with a lightness that she can’t place. “It’s just good to be here, with you. Doing this, with you.” Her smile is genuine, and it makes his face light up that he managed to see _that_ again. 

“Same here. Now let’s stop being so silly, and have fun again, yeah?”

“Because if you say it, it will happen?”

“Exactly. I make the rules now,” he grins, and she grins back, because when they’re happy, they are _really happy._

 

_+_

 

The second day they’re working the vibe between them has changed. Catherine can tell there’s something else now. Something not at all unfamiliar, and it makes her feel so nervous she could be sick. 

It feels like last time they were together for an inordinate amount of time. The tension is catching up with them. Chasing them until it snags on the back of their shoes. Almost ready to pull them down to the ground and bruise and hurt them, making marks that should not be there. Catherine knows she isn’t the only one who feels it, because during the morning David keeps looking at her. Sometimes smirking, and she hasn’t been doing anything different to what she was doing yesterday. But now he’s like this. Playful, and excited, and she can only think of the other times he’s been like this, and what ended up happening then. 

Therefore, she’s so nervous she could be sick, because like the other times this has happened, she’s not going to be the one to stop it if he’s the one to instigate it. 

They’re left in the same dreadfully boring and empty room for lunch like the day before. No one interrupted them for about an hour last time, and there’s a tiny, shaking piece of Catherine who hopes it will be the same today. She knows what she wants, and she knows what David wants, too. And she’s never been good at denying this man of much. 

She’s standing beside the closed door, because it looks like this will be the only opportunity to stretch her legs out before sitting for another couple of hours. 

“Biscuit?” David offers her, but she declines. She just wants to get this over with, because she’s ready and waiting and she’s feeling so heady with how she feels about him. She cannot _believe_ she lets him have this effect on her so much. Though something tells her _he_ doesn’t really mind it.

“Catherine?” She realizes he must of said something because he looks a little confused, but not totally surprised that she’s stopped talking or listening altogether. Yeah, he’s expecting this too.

She pushes herself off the wall she was leaning on and steps towards him tentatively. 

“Should we?” is the only thing she says. It’s enough, evidently, because David swallows, audibly. _And smirks._ He knows what that does to her.

It feels like a complete cut-to moment because one second she was standing metres away from this man and now he’s all over her, pushing her back against the wall she had been resting on mere moments ago, hands gripping to her hips, tongue tracing over her lips. 

It’s not like they still have _feelings_ for each other. It’s just that this feels comfortable, it feels normal to have David pressing her up against a wall. And that’s about as far as she goes to think about it, otherwise it gets too complicated. And she doesn’t like complicated. Catherine only wants her world to revolve around the way David knows to push his knee between her legs, and how he knows to press his hand against the small of her back and push them together, _so_ closely. 

His hand goes to the button on her jeans the exact moment his lips find the pulse point on her neck, and she slams her head back, hitting it against the wall. She thinks she should probably feel some sort of pain but then his hands are yanking her jeans down her hips, and down her legs, and she doesn’t feel anything except his skin on hers, burning. 

He drops to his knees and she hears herself breathing, “no, no, not what I want,” but he seems to know that already because he’s only trying to get her boots off and her jeans past her ankles. He springs back up and attaches himself to the skin on her neck once more before she can take a proper breath, and this time he’s _needy._

He presses her against the wall, slipping his leg between hers again, applying pressure upwards, just shy of where he knows she needs it most. He takes her last breath away, leaving her gasping, and he uses a hand to pull at her sweater, uncovering a gorgeous patch of freckly, porcelain skin on her chest. He licks and sucks, finds _that_ spot he knows drives her wild and-

_“Ah,”_ Catherine croaks, trying not to rip his manically perfect hair out when he begins to make the skin have its own heartbeat and it takes her a moment to realize he’s giving her a hickey until he finally pulls off her with a smack of his lips. And no, it’s not like it was during the days when they were careful to never, ever mark, and-

David grinds against her, pushing, pressing, and drags a hand up her thigh until it reaches between her thighs, making her shiver as he palms her through her delicate panties, and when he doesn’t even bother with the appraisal of dragging them down and crawling back up her legs with sweet kisses, he knows it’s not what she’s in the mood for, so he simply takes the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, _and rips._

Catherine moans and fumbles for the button on his own jeans with shaking hands, trying to push them down with his briefs and watch him spring free, and oh, he’s just as she remembers.

“It’s been a while,” he grumbles, a deep resonating sound in the back of his throat.

“I know, I was there,” Catherine jokes half-heartedly.

“No, I mean-

She drags her nails up and down his chest, distracting him, so she can interrupt with, “I know what you mean.” She doesn’t sound kind, she doesn’t sound like herself, but because she’d rather not know when was the last time for him. Just like he wouldn’t want to know for her, so she digs her nails into his lower back, bringing him back to the moment, spurring him on, and he falls right into it again.

They aren’t even completely naked, and there isn’t a bed with soft sheets, but she can feel a light switch dig into her back when he grips her thighs and forcibly drags her legs around his waist. It’s not exactly gentle, or subtle when she smacks her hands back, trying to brace herself against the wall, when she throws her head back, _again,_ as he aligns himself and pushes forward until she-

_“Fu-u-_

Catherine splutters at the way he stretches her, makes her hamstrings burn and even if she’s aroused, wet and willing, he’s still so- she makes a guttural sound in the back of her throat, and tries to grip the door handle beside her. Tosses her head and tries to keep her balance even though he stops, and-

He stops.

She tries to breathe in as deeply as she can when she presses her chin to her chest and looks down at him, at the way he’s gauging her every response, and she realize’s he’s not moving at the same time he realizes she’s watching him, waiting on him. She wonders if he really is having a mental breakdown because he says, “You okay?”

He whispers it, so open and outward and _giving._ Her eyes are wide and her stomach still clenched like a fist, but she looks at him looking at her like _that,_ and she wants to sob, just for a minute. 

Catherine bobs her head once, and instead of arching her back to get their lower bodies closer together, grasping at any surface she can to use as leverage to seek out her own pleasure, Catherine stops, too. 

He still hasn’t moved when Catherine carefully, prodding, wraps her arms around his shoulders and allows her legs to drop lower. It’s deeper, and she can feel him angled against her gspot, and whimpers against it because she knows how sensitive he makes her, how-

“Shh,” he murmurs, and leans in to drag his lips along the mark he’d left, the skin that’s purpling already.

They are stuck in this messy embrace, stuck because it’s a lot to take in, miles away from where they before, years ago when they last did this. And not just speaking in terms of distance.

Then he starts moving again, rocks his hips until she’s left panting, trying to muffle whatever sounds she can against the curve of his clothed shoulder, and he is getting off on the way _she_ looks, clinging to him and crying out every time he puts a little more pressure into his movements, jerks himself upward, balls deep. She knows she can’t make any noise, at all, so when it finally happens for Catherine, it’s quick, with her biting into David’s shoulder, panting into his ear. She’s already over sensitized and liquid heat, but he knows how to end it, physically steps closer to the wall, so as there isn’t even any space for him to move his hips-

He doesn’t do anything except hold within her like that, pubic bone pressed up against her clit, massaging the skin of her thighs as best he can, biceps heaving and bulging. David drags his lips along the love bite that’s beginning to hurt her, and turns his hips back and forth very, _very_ precariously, enough friction that Catherine is trying to stay sane in the suspension, writhing even as she’s holding him like a lover that once was, like she won’t let him go-

-before he sinks his teeth into her, hard enough to break the skin.

“Fuck!” Catherine howls, spasms so intensely her eyes roll back into her head, all fireworks, and she can feel him groaning into her neck when he finally stops playing _vampire_. She’s annoyed, but it doesn’t last long because she’s too lost in the euphoria, in the after wave of feeling _him_ find that moment, feeling him sigh into her heavy breasts, feeling every ounce of tension release from him. And even if some say it’s a myth, she can swear she feels him gush inside her. David pulls back from the wall with his jeans still half way around his thighs, supporting her with his arms, and-

He shuffles over to the couch they were sitting on yesterday in such a way that has her burying her nose in the crook of his jaw, muffling the type of giggles that are such a rarity for him to hear, and for her to let him to. 

He drops down, carefully, and has Catherine sitting on top of his lap, her face still hiding in his neck. She plants a line of kisses up his neck, down his jaw, until she reaches his lips. She moans against his mouth, almost purring like a content kitten. It all but physically hurts her when he pulls back abruptly, shying his face away from her. Catherine herself leans back, stares at him long enough to know he won’t give her the eye contact she needs right now, then wriggles herself off his lap and turns away from him, picking up her jeans while realizing she’ll have to take off her ruined underwear first.

She can hear him shuffle behind her, obviously putting his jeans back into place, and then as she is doing up the button and zip of her jeans he’s behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, burying his face into her hair, breathing in and out, breathing _her_ in and out. For a moment, she pauses, not ready to accept what he’s trying to do; to make up with her, but she caves, as she always does. She grabs his arms and effectively hugs him back, turning her head, allowing him to nuzzle closer into her, then they sigh in sync to one another.

“I’m, uh, sorry about your knickers,” he whispers, and how she’s thankful to hear that over where she thought he was going with those first few words. So she laughs, because there isn’t much else left now.

“It’s okay. I have plenty of others.”

“I hope you still have those ones I-

“Yes, yep. I do,” she interrupts because now everything is getting too much, too close, too _suffocatingly familiar._ He holds her tighter, afraid of letting her go again, but how does she know? Because she’s feeling the exact same. She wants to hold him again, hold him tight against her, take him home with her, which is the motivation she uses to pull away from him, which is _painful._

“We should,” she gestures to the door while turning to face him, and it takes every bone in her body to not stop and start crying, full, awful tears she needs to let out because of the way he looks at her. 

It’s not love, and it’s not longing, and he doesn’t seem lost. David looks so fucking infuriatingly normal and _happy._ He’s feeling everything she wants, _needs,_ to be feeling. Catherine is feeling lost, again, now that she sees he isn’t the same way. Unlike other times though, she doesn’t mention it. Doesn’t hint that what they have done is wrong and idiotic and really, really not okay because, where the fuck are they and who the fuck could walk in? She’s learnt by now, that isn’t a path they go down, or a fork in the road. This just happens sometimes, now. It’s a pit stop. He wanted this, _she_ wanted this, so she has to suck it up and move on, which is what she _should_ have learnt by now, too.

Catherine takes hold of his hand, drags him towards the door and then out of the room, all the while smiling so brightly, mirroring David completely, but his grin is genuine, where hers is simply a mirror image. There’s nothing in it, just a look. Then because he’s David, because he simply _knows her,_ knows she’s not feeling right and is only pretending to look as normal as him, locks his fingers into hers and whispers into her ear, breathe hot and sticky on her neck,

“I cannot believe you’re not even wearing underwear right now.”

She laughs, from deep in her stomach, enough to throw her head back and show all her teeth, enough to leave her a little breathless, because he knows her, and he knows what she wants, what she needs. And the only things she ever wants or needs, is him.

 

_ end. _


End file.
